Il est beau et il est doux
by Chiara Alice Vargas
Summary: "He is beautiful and he is sweet". He meets a man on a train ride home, becomes acquainted with him, and parts ways when they have both arrived in their destination. They meet again, because their town is small and things like that are possible. Somehow, the Canadian is inevitably wooed by the charismatic Frenchman. FraNada, AU.


**Il est beau et il est doux**  
**A FraNada fanfic**  
**Rated T**  
**Warnings:** _AU. Might suck since I have never written FraNada before._

_Matthew/Matthieu/Canada's POV_

**_Un_**

* * *

I looked out the window, trying to get a good view of the sunset and the hills. The train was near-empty, most of the former passengers have already disembarked hours ago on the other stops we've passed by. I slipped my mitten-clad hands into my coat's pockets, and swung my legs idly. It was cold. Even outside, it was cold. But the train's interior was cold too. Cold in a machine-cold way. I wished I could just open the windows and let the cool, countryside breeze rush in. The smell of vehicle interior makes me nauseous sometimes.

My watch read ten minutes past six in the evening. An hour more of this excruciating train ride. It was so quiet and boring. An hour more... I sighed. I have to be more patient.

I was headed to a small town on a lesser-populated place of Quebec. It was only reachable by train or car, and I most certainly don't have a car. I could care less for one; it's more costly, what with regular maintenance and gas. I wanted to go to this town because it seemed perfect to me. After months and months of researching, this tiny little sub-urban town sounded so perfect; it doesn't have the hustle-bustle of cities, it's quiet and peaceful, it has nice, friendly people, it has everything a normal person needs, and it was a two-hour train ride from the nearest city. Okay, maybe the last one wouldn't appeal to anybody, but I like train rides, and I figured that I wouldn't need to get out of the town and into the city that often, so I could compromise on that.

I guess what I'm doing is just escaping from everything, huh? A quiet place for me to live in and start over. Away from my past. Don't get me wrong! It's not that I'm actually escaping from something, like a crime. No, I was just tired. Tired of being used by my friends, tired of being taken for granted by my brother, tired of the fast-paced city world... Yeah. I needed a break. A really long one.

A few days ago, I got fired from my job. Some asshole framed me for something I didn't do, when I knew full well it was really him. I tried to tell them I did nothing wrong, but my boss was pretty biased. They believed him more than me, and so I was made redundant as a result.

That's okay, though. It was what led me here, on this so-called quest of self-searching. Without that little incident, I'd still be stuck behind that grey desk in that boring office doing clerk-work or whatever. Yeah. It was a good thing, all in all. It was for the best. I never even told anyone I left. If they couldn't see me while I'm there, then they won't notice I'm gone.

I never told anyone. Not my brother, not my parents, not my so-called friends. No one. Well, okay, the landlord of my tiny little flat would probably know, since I moved out, and eventually, people will know because someone will probably try and look for me, thinking I was still in town, only for them to realise I was gone, then news would spread and people will know. Probably. At least I could get away now without anyone onto my tracks.

I sighed and looked outside again. It was already starting to get quite dark. The lights inside the train were switched on. It was really quiet. The kind of silence where you just want to tap your fingers, or hum a tune just so it wasn't complete silence.

I looked at the people sitting around. A man in his mid-thirties, a lady with unevenly chopped hair, another woman who dressed lightly despite the cold, and a man who looked like he was going to a movie premiere.

The man (who looked like he was going to a movie premiere) caught me looking at him and smiled a million-dollar smile. He reminded me of those celebrities who remind you of someone, but whose face wasn't that popular yet to be known.

I blinked and smiled back, looking quite abashed. What was a man like him doing on a train headed for nowhere?

"_Bonjour_." He smiled at me. I could have sworn his teeth were sparkling white when he smiled, and his hair flipped around perfectly when he turned. He was the image of a walking angel on Earth, simple to say. He was beautiful. Not handsome, dashing or hot, just beautiful.

"U-um,_ bonjour_!" I managed to squeak out.

"Ah, so you speak French?" His lips curved more upward in a most impressed smile. I could tell he is French from the heavily-accented English.

"Yes..." I nodded. The man was seated on the seats across mine, but farther right, so he moved closer to get a better look at me while we spoke.

His eyes seemed to glint with more fascination towards me. "Ah, _c'est magnefique_, then! I do like talking to French-speakers. It makes me feel nostalgia for my home country."

I nodded but I didn't say anything. Apparently, the man wanted to keep the ball rolling so he asked, "Where's your next stop?"

"Three stops from the last one... I still have at least an hour more."

The Frenchman laughed, melodious peals of delight rang in our vicinity. He didn't laugh loudly, really. It was just enough to be heard between us, and even if it were to be heard by other people, it was most certainly not disturbing. "Oh how fate works so mysteriously sometimes! It is most fascinating. My stop is the same as yours, _mon cher_." His eyes seemed to laugh along with him as well, like he was truly pleased to meet me and make my acquaintance. How strange; usually, no one really bothers to befriend me, or shows remote interest towards me. To them, I'll always be the throwaway.

I somehow felt flattered, though. He called me 'my dear'. Or was it always like that in France? Loosely using terms to endearment even towards strangers? I decided to shrug it off.

I smiled back good-naturedly. "Oh, that's good to know; at least I am reassured that I won't be heading to some Godforsaken place now."

"Oh, such sense of humour! I must know your name!" He chuckled and sat back straighter, his blue eyes alive with excitement.

I considered it for a few moments. A stranger on the train? Should I tell him my name? I suppose I could. He was probably harmless. And he was a nice, charming man. It wouldn't hurt if I did.

"Matthieu Williams." I spoke in a French accent with a tiny smile. I've always wanted to say that. "Or, simply, Matthew. Everyone spells it the English way back home by mistake, but my real name is really spelt as Matthieu, -ieu at the end."

"_Mon nom est_ François Bonnefoy, and it's a pleasure to meet you, _Monsieur_ Williams. You may call me Francis, though. Everyone does." He took my hand and kissed the back of it. I wasn't really sure if that was a French custom or if he was just really like that. Nevertheless, it would be a shameful lie if I said that didn't charm me one bit. His smooth voice pronouncing my name was absolutely enthralling.

He then told me that he was born and raised in France before moving to Ottawa when he was fifteen, and now he is moving to the small suburban town to live a peaceful life and start a small business as a café owner. Why did he want to start business in a small town, though? I thought it would have been better to start your entrepreneurship in the city, so you actually profit more, but he said that in the city, there is more competition whereas in smaller areas, patronage and loyalty are higher since there is less competition. He had a point.

Also, he was twenty-six and I was twenty-three. The moment I turned twenty-three on the first of July, I immediately went to work, and a few months later, I was fired, or... nicely sent away. He was once a freelance model for the magazines, but he said he got tired of sampling everyone's cheese. That was a metaphor for being tired of taking everyone's crap and expectations of him as a model, and also tired of sampling every stylist's outfit for him. I looked at him again, silently making a mental note of his appearance. Yes, he certainly did have the right body for a fashion model. I wondered why he wasn't famous yet.

We talked a lot. The man was absolutely charming and his way of talking was not boring. I just found myself drawn in towards his words and the way he speaks, and it was delightful to listen to him talk. We didn't even notice that we've already arrived in our stop, not until the doors opened and the train emptied did we remember that we were actually on a train and not leisurely sitting around on a bench in a park. We both laughed at ourselves and went out together.

When we got out, the cold breeze made me start, despite being wrapped in fifty layers of clothing. I was used to the cold, not to the wind. Even Francis was shivering. He was less covered than I, and I felt the need to offer him my coat, saying that I'll do okay without it and that he might catch a cold so he needs it more than I do.

"Ah, _merci_, _mon cher_." He smiled, taking the coat and wearing it. I was a bit taller than him so the coat was a bit shorter around the hem. Other than that, it was a good fit. His appearance certainly didn't look any better in my coat (it did not suit nor flatter him at all), which was overused and weather-beaten, but at least he had something. He then asked me if I will be okay in my thick, wool purple sweater, in which I answered that I will be all right and that I was used to the cold.

It was dark out and quite cold for a November night. No snow yet, but I'm betting we'll get some soon. Street lights were the only things lit out there, and I could see a few shops open. We continued walking, until we both decided to sit down, since carrying all my bags has been really tiring.

"I actually have my place sorted out so I have somewhere to stay for the night, but what about you?" He frowned, leaning back onto the bench. He settled his only bag onto his lap, meanwhile I had to struggled trying to juggle three: one on wheels, one large canvas bag and one large messenger bag.

I chuckled, waving my hand dismissively. "I'll be okay. I don't have my place sorted out yet, since my landlord will finalise things with me tomorrow, but I'll be okay! I was told there was a hotel here." I nodded and caught my other bag with my left hand just before it slipped.

"Do you want to get dinner first?"

"No, I'm fine." Then I realised maybe he was hungry and was subtly offering me to get dinner so that he could eat dinner as well. "I-I mean, if you want to, that's fine by me. We could get dinner together."

He laughed softly. "Oh, I'm all right, but I've made it a habit to eat my meals on time even if I am not hungry. It's healthier. I suggest you come along with me, hm? I'll help you with the rolling bag." He took the largest luggage and stood up, smiling down at me.

I nodded and stood up, each large bag on each shoulder. Thanks to hockey, I'm actually stronger on the arms and legs, more than what my outer appearance tells people, anyway. We walked for a bit more, and I listened to Francis talk in his beautiful French-accented English. He was a conversationalist, but not necessarily to the point that you'd see him as loquacious. Even so, I found his voice soothing and listening to him wasn't a bore.

We sat down in a diner, having made it at least forty-five minutes before closing time. That was good. We ordered a simple dinner. It wasn't some fancy restaurant that served wine (much to Francis' dismay), and the food was all common. But it was delicious, no doubt about that! Even Francis seemed to think so. I had a feeling that Francis did not frequent such restaurants. He even asked for the chef to give him his compliments, to which said chef chuckled good-naturedly and flushed a bit, probably not used to that kind of treatment.

He paid for our bill despite my protests. We then left and walked for a bit more, before we came to an intersection. I told him I was going the opposite way, so he handed me my luggage (which he still was helping me with), bid me "_adieu_" and "_bonsoir_", kissed the back of my hand (the charmer!), told me that it was a pleasure meeting me before we parted ways.

I was left in the middle of the intersection, cold yet left with a warm feeling inside. I was glad I had made a friend, and someone who didn't even dismiss me as someone bland and unnoticeable. I felt, for a moment, in his eyes, I was really there and not like cellophane. Like he really did pay attention to my presence.

I was left there all cold. The temperature had dropped, yes, but not drastically... So why did I feel cold? I should be used to this...

Then I remembered, I left my coat with Francis and he went home with it.

I had a feeling we'd see each other again. This is a small town, so it was more than likely. We'd have to, anyway. I need my coat back! I mentally berated myself for being so forgetful, and I laughed at myself along with it.

* * *

**A/N:** First FraNada fic! Hope you guys like the way I portray France. Also, I made Canada 23 years old because, well, he needed to be older for this story because if he was the same age as, say, Alfred, who is canonically 19 (I would say Canada would be around that age, or 18 even!), it wouldn't fit with the story of how he went to this small town to live on his own, because at the age of 19 he'd still be in school. Or so I think... Western education curricula confuses me a lot.

I'm fanfic idea farting again, so I'm posting loads of different, new stories. I'm sorry, I should update the ones I have... Until next time!

By the way, if my French was wrong in some places, please do forgive me. I just combined the strength of Google Translate and stock knowledge. Feel free to correct me!


End file.
